


Your World Doesn't Make Sense

by fictorium



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Babies, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Surrogacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:37:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina wants a baby. Like, her biological-clock-just-went-off-like-a-nuclear-bomb wants a baby. When conventional methods fail her, she enlists Gold's help to find a surrogate. Enter Miss Emma Swan, of Boston. (Based as closely as possible on the hilarious 'Baby Mama'.)</p><p>Warning: BABYFIC. Also, there is a teensy smidge of het in here. But I promise, it's only ever mentioned as an aside. All the action is girl-on-girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “You’re saying I’m hostile?” Regina snaps, leaning over the desk and ready to grab the weaselly little man by his tie.
> 
>  
> 
> “No! Not at all,” Doctor Whale corrects. “What I’m saying is that your uterus is hostile. To uh, life.”
> 
>  
> 
> “I want a second opinion,” Regina fumes.

 

Graham is the obvious candidate, of course, but Regina soon finds that freezing time has other unfortunate effects. Nobody under the thrall of the curse will be procreating any time soon, which presumably explains her own less than inspiring results.

 

Unacceptable.

 

She keeps sleeping with Graham, though. A woman needs a hobby.

 

***

 

“You’re saying I’m _hostile_?” Regina snaps, leaning over the desk and ready to grab the weaselly little man by his tie.

 

“No! Not at all,” Doctor Whale corrects. “What I’m saying is that your uterus is hostile. To uh, life.”

 

“I want a second opinion,” Regina fumes, already plotting revenge for this humiliating little scene.

 

***

 

“Gold!” She calls out as she enters his dingy pawn shop. Why she didn’t see fit to include another attorney in the citizens of Storybrooke is beyond her at the moment, but this should (hopefully) be less effort than rewriting anyone else’s mind. 

 

“Regina,” says that strange little voice from somewhere behind the counter. “You’re interrupting my meditation. Again.”

 

“I have a job for you,” she says, blithely ignoring his complaint. “So unfold yourself from Downwards Facing Dog and get your lawyer’s hat on, please.”

 

“It’s Lotus,” he grumbles, but a moment later he’s on his feet.

 

“What can I do for you, Madam Mayor?” Gold asks, and she should really have paid more attention to the glint in his eye.

 

***

 

Adoption is a headache the likes of which Regina has neither the time nor patience for; not to mention the sneering she’ll endure as a single mother. Gold talks her out of that in short order, leaving fostering or surrogacy as her only viable options. Well, there’s always kidnapping, but... no, Regina wants to do this one thing properly.

 

She fires up her laptop and begins searching for a reliable guide to surrogacy.

 

Two hours later, despite the fluttering reservations that lurk in the back of her mind, she picks up the phone and dials Gold’s number from memory.

 

“Find me someone who’ll have my baby,” she orders, hanging up straight away. She closes her browser and decides a glass of cider is the best way to celebrate.

 

***

 

Emma rolls her Bug to a stop outside what appears to be the town’s only functioning business: a run-down diner with a creaking sign. She looks up and down the almost-deserted street, whistling in surprise at just how dead it is. Some people really mean it when they say ‘small town’, it turns out.

 

She stretches after the four-hour drive, reaching for the Big Gulp on the passenger seat and the directions scribbled on the back of a beermat. 

 

It would be easy enough to just go looking for this guy’s pawn shop, it’s not like there’s much to get lost in, but Emma feels like food and maybe a little conversation first. If she’s going to run a decent con she needs intel, and where better to get that than in the one place in town that actually has some life in it?

 

It’s too hot for her leather jacket, so she leaves it in her Bug and locks up. There’s a little splash of melted strawberry slush on her white tank top, and these jeans could probably do with a trip to the laundromat, but Emma smells cheeseburger coming from the diner and that’s her mind made up.

 

She pushes open the door to the diner, smiling at the weak breeze of air-con, and looks around for a free table.

 

***

 

Regina is pacing back and forth in Gold’s shop, while he scurries behind the counter, pulling valuable items out of her range as she completes each lap of the small space.

 

“Where is she?” Regina snaps, consulting the cuckoo clock for the twentieth time, followed by her own watch. “If she can’t be trusted to show up for a simple meeting, how can I be expected to trust her with a fetus?”

 

“If you could just exercise a little patience, Madam Mayor,” Gold says in that irritating way he has. “Perhaps you’d care for a wheatgrass smoothie to pass the time?”

 

“That,” Regina tells him, quite firmly, “is the last thing I would care for right now.”

 

But a moment later the shop’s bell rings, and Regina turns to look at the potential birth mother of her child.

 

Oh. Well, this will not do at all.

 

***

 

“I’m looking for Mr. Gold?” Emma says, eyeing the other woman in the store nervously. 

 

“That’s me, dearie,” says the skinny man with the shaggy hair. His voice is familiar from the phone, Emma realizes, with that accent that she can’t quite place.

 

“I’m here about the surrogate... thing,” Emma says, striding past the woman who’s staring at Emma like she’s something the cat dragged in. “I brought all my medical records, and the test results like we discussed.”

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the dark-haired woman says, stepping in to snatch the binder from Emma’s hand. It takes a lot of willpower on Emma’s part not to snatch it right back, and throw in a slap for good measure. Well, this confirms it: here’s the mother.

 

“Hey,” Emma says, trying for bright and breezy. “Wait ‘til you see how primed I am for baby-making.”

 

“Charming,” the woman snorts. 

 

“Now, Regina. Please be polite. Miss... Swan, isn’t it?” Mr. Gold asks. Emma nods in confirmation. “You’ll have to excuse the Mayor; she has a lot on her mind.”

 

“You’re the one who wants a baby?” Emma asks, taking in the perfect clothes, the perfect hair... yeah, this lady is pretty much dripping money.

 

“From a... suitable surrogate, yes,” Regina says. 

 

Emma feels the temptation to turn and run. There are easier ways to make money, after all. But something in this stuck-up bitch’s cold smile pushes a button somewhere, and Emma summons up her best shit-eating grin.

 

“Well, looks like today is your lucky day.”

 

***

 

The guy who drives them back to Regina’s fancy house is pretty hot, Emma decides as she sits in the back of a police cruiser; at least this time there are no cuffs and nobody has read her her rights. Both the snooty Mayor lady and her scruffy chauffeur keep catching Emma’s eye in the rear view mirror, but she just smiles blandly each time, risking a cheeky wink at the dude, which almost causes him to drive into a postbox. The jumpy type, Emma makes a mental note not to spook him around Queen Bitch again anytime soon.

 

The house is pretty ridiculous, and Emma barely covers her whistle as she bounds out of the car towards the lush lawns.

 

“Keep off the grass,” Regina snaps from somewhere behind her, and Emma drags her feet until she’s back on the brick path. 

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Emma says, without a scrap of respect in either word. She shuts up long enough to be led into some kind of fancy sitting room with uncomfortable couches and ugly paintings that probably cost more than Emma’s car and crappy apartment combined. Drinks are poured, and Emma opens her mouth to complain when she’s handed some boring orange juice.

 

“Surely,” Regina cuts her off. “You’re avoiding alcohol while you’re preparing to conceive.”

 

“Right,” Emma says, thinking fondly of the six pack of Miller she polished off last night. “And taking all my vitamins, too.” If by vitamins she means Pop Tarts and peanut butter cups, anyway.

 

“Obviously, I have some questions,” Regina says, sitting down on one of the sofas and still managing to look like she has a big ol’ stick up her butt. Emma resists the urge to roll her eyes, but she flashes a knowing smile at the hunk in the corner nursing a glass of Scotch.

 

“Me too,” Emma says, already tired of the bullshit. “I mean, you’re not the only potential mother I’m considering giving this... gift to.”

 

There it is, Emma thinks. She was willing to bet anyone with a life this fancy would have a killer competitive streak, and the thought of someone else renting out Emma’s womb for nine months just isn’t going to fly. That prissy mouth forms a tight little line, and Emma knows she’s halfway in.

 

“Is this daddy?” Emma says, nodding towards the man who’s waiting patiently.

 

“No,” Regina says firmly. “Graham is a dear friend, and the Sheriff here in town. I’ll be raising the child alone.”

 

“Brave,” Emma says, figuring a little flattery can’t hurt. “But you can obviously provide for a kid.”

 

“Yes,” Regina confirms, preening just a little. Emma relaxes at her imminent victory. “What about you, Miss Swan? No plans for a family of your own - you’re only twenty-six, after all? Is there a husband or a boyfriend going to come interfering? That is, if we go ahead.”

 

“Nope,” Emma replies, draining the juice from her glass in one greedy mouthful. “Just me. I’m... how can I say this? I’m looking for a fresh start. And taking a nine month break to do this seems like a good way to change my life.”

 

“And you’ll move here, to Storybrooke, until the baby is born?” Regina presses, and there’s something about her that suggests she’s looking for a fight. Emma isn’t going to give her one, no matter how strong the urge is.

 

“Yup,” Emma confirms. “Mr. Gold explained the conditions really well. I guess I’ll just give you some time to think it over. I have another appointment, in Bangor, so...”

 

Emma stands to leave, wiping her hands on her jeans before sticking her right hand out to shake. Regina considers her for a moment, giving Emma a long look over from head to toe. Then Regina stands, offering her own hand in that limp, professional way that Emma sees on politicians and assholes everywhere.

 

“Such a pleasure to meet you,” Regina lies. “So what do you say we call these people in Bangor and tell them you’re no longer available?”

 

“That’s a ‘yes’?” Emma asks, gripping Regina’s fingers just hard enough to hurt. 

 

“As soon as we do the paperwork,” Regina admits. They both drop their hands back to their respective sides, and Emma bites back the instinct to punch the air in victory.

 

***

 

It’s decided, then, that Graham will drive Emma back to her car and get her settled at Granny’s, all billed to Regina, of course. Regina has more than enough room in the mansion, but until paperwork is done and eggs are implanted, Granny can finally have a guest in her dusty Bed & Breakfast. 

 

Regina settles back in the parlor with the rest of her drink and the files that the girl left, flicking through test results and medical terms that she’s become all too familiar with. It’s impossible to deny that Emma Swan is in prime physical condition to conceive, and in contrast to Regina’s own disappointing numbers and levels, it’s a wonder Emma doesn’t become spontaneously pregnant from eye contact alone.

 

There are risks, of course, not least that having an outsider in town means potentially awkward questions, but honestly the girl doesn’t seem all that bright. There’s something uncomfortably familiar about her when she tilts her head in a certain way, but Regina supposes that seeing the same faces for so long without interruption has left her seeing patterns where none exist.

 

A week seems long enough to set things in motion, and to establish once and for all if Emma Swan is serious about giving Regina the child she so desperately craves. It’s taken so long--so very long--to feel ready for that responsibility, to banish the specter of her own mother that looms over Regina’s every minor failure. But no, this way Regina can control everything down to where and when the child is conceived. With a plan like that, what could possibly go wrong?

 

***

 

Emma feels a bit like she’s checking into the hotel from The Shining when the grumpy old woman hands over a giant metal keychain, the key on it kind of an afterthought. 

 

“Room 4,” ‘Granny’ mutters, waving her hand vaguely towards a staircase that looks one good run away from collapse. “You got bags?”

 

“I can manage,” Emma says, hoisting her battered duffel bag over her shoulder. “Thanks,” she adds as an afterthought, watching as a young woman comes barreling down those rickety stairs in a cloud of hairspray and perfume.

 

“We got a guest?” The girl shouts across the reception area.

 

“Yes, Ruby,” the old woman says with serious impatience. “So if I find out that you’ve hosted another party in Room 4...”

 

“It’s spotless!” Ruby says, honing in on Emma and grabbing her by the arm, dragging Emma towards the stairs before she can think to protest. “Come on, I’ll help you settle in.”

 

“That’s really not necessary,” Emma says, trying to wrest her arm free of Ruby’s surprisingly strong grip. “As long as the room has a bed and a shower, I’m good to go.”

 

“You must be tired...” Ruby says as they march upstairs, obviously waiting for Emma to fill in the blank.

 

“Emma,” she supplies, trying to sound like she gives a damn. Once she has the money in the bank and Maine is a speck in the rearview mirror, she’s going to change that anyway, so it doesn’t really matter how many people she tells here.

 

“Emma,” Ruby repeats, like she’s saying the name for the first time. “Well, if you want to have a nap that’s cool. But you have to let me take you out tonight, or you’ll die of boredom.”

 

“I’m not much for going out,” Emma lies smoothly. “And I, uh, can’t drink at the moment,” she latches onto the excuse, ignoring the fifth of vodka currently hidden in her purse. 

 

“Diet Cokes it is then,” Ruby says too easily, and Emma is pretty sure those will all be coming spiked with rum. And that’s roughly when she decides to go along with it; it’s been a long time since anyone wanted to take her drinking for any agenda beyond getting in her pants. Not that Emma would mind if Ruby tried, certainly, but messy entanglements mean snooty Regina might reconsider her investment, and Emma’s already planning a few months in somewhere with a beach on that cash.

 

“You wore me down,” Emma says as she unlocks her door, using her body to block Ruby from following her in. “But you were right about that nap.”

 

“See you in the diner at 9 then,” Ruby replies with a shrug, spinning away back down the hall with a smile on her face and a sway in her hips. “Hope you’re ready for the wildest night Storybrooke has to offer.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma says, shutting the door firmly. “Somehow, I think I’ll cope.”

 

***

 

“Srrrrrffffff,” Emma tries to say as the scruffy, handsome guy catches her. 

 

“Emma?” Graham asks, his face swimming in and out of focus. “I’d better get you home before Regina finds out.”

 

“S’nice,” Emma slurs, stumbling a bit more as he tries to help her walk. He really is very strong. It’s when he picks Emma up to carry her up those damn stairs in the B&B that she decides to kiss him. 

 

***

 

The knocking at the door has Emma awake and halfway across the floor before her eyes are even done opening. Not to open the door, of course, she’s not an idiot. No, she’s trying to barricade herself into the tiny bathroom when she discovers someone else had the same idea.

 

“Um, Gordon?” Emma tries, squinting in the semi-darkness at him.

 

“Graham,” he whispers. “And I’m pretty sure that’s Regina knocking on the door.”

 

“Shit!” Emma says, kicking out at the sink. “Did we--”

 

“No!” Graham answers. “You passed out and I slept on the floor to make sure you didn’t choke on... well, to make sure you were okay.”

 

“A real gentleman,” Emma says, and it’s not as scornful as it might be. “And it explains why you’re still dressed, at least.”

 

“Well, one of us should be,” Graham says with that easy grin. A grin that evaporates at the next round of thumping knocks. “You should answer. She doesn’t give up.”

 

“I’m beginning to get that impression,” Emma sighs, grabbing the mini bottle of mouthwash and sloshing the green liquid around her mouth for a couple of seconds. “Wish me luck.”

 

***

 

When the girl answers the door wearing no more than a white tank top and bright red underwear, it takes an almost superhuman effort for Regina not to roll her eyes. Summoning every ounce of the politician’s patience she’s learned in this land, Regina forces a smile onto her mouth and selects a shiny, red apple from the basket.

 

“Miss Swan,” she says brightly. “I know we’re not meeting until tomorrow, but I wanted to bring you these. Honeycrisp apples, fresh from my own garden.”

 

“That’s... nice of you?” Emma replies, shifting from one foot to the other, avoiding eye contact as she takes the offered fruit. “I uh, haven’t had breakfast yet.”

 

“Of course,” Regina says, and when the invitation isn’t forthcoming, she pushes past Emma into the sparsely decorated room. Clothes all over the floor, and the bed looks like a tornado hit it. Regina feels her nose wrinkle just a little before she gets the disgust under control; after all, the way a person organizes their belongings doesn’t generally reflect on the health of their uterus. 

 

“I just wanted to remind you,” Regina says. “That tomorrow is a very important day, and I expect you to treat it that way. If you waste my time, or these precious eggs, in any way...”

 

“Listen,” Emma snaps, clearly caught off-guard. “I signed your damn contract. I’m staying at the Bates Motel so you can keep an eye on your investment. And look,” she says, taking an exaggerated, crunching bite from the apple Regina handed her. “I’m eating all healthy.”

 

“You should have washed that first,” Regina says sourly, but it’s hard not to warm to the aggressive arguing. There’s something of Regina’s own fighting spirit in that. 

 

“Tastes fine to me,” Emma says, mouth full. Regina shudders at the crassness of it. Perhaps _What to Expect_ will have a section on whether or not bad manners are hereditary.

 

“Well,” Regina says, turning to leave. “I’ll see you at the hospital tomorrow? Eleven, sharp.”

 

“I’ll be there,” Emma says, already retreating towards the bathroom door in the corner. Well, she certainly looks like she could use a long, hot shower, Regina thinks as she walks out into the hallway. For a second, as she walks away, she could swear she hears the low rumble of a man’s voice, but she has a town to run and so she carries on downstairs.

 

***

 

“No way!” Emma protests, practically standing up in the stirrups. “Get her out of here!”

 

“Mayor Mills said you agreed to her being here for the procedure,” the doctor says, waving that scary syringe and the world’s biggest needle around like it’s nothing. 

 

“Like hell I did,” Emma grunts, trying to pull the flimsy hospital gown over her exposed parts.

 

“I’d refer you to page seven of your contract, Miss Swan,” Regina says, crossing her arms in a way that just dares Emma to argue with her.

 

“Seriously?” Emma shrieks, before slumping back against the one flat pillow in temporary defeat. “Fine. But for the love of God, please come to this end.”

 

Regina shrugs, before crossing the room to take her place by Emma’s shoulder.

 

“Thank you,” Emma grunts, as the needle heads back towards her cervix.

 

***

 

Regina’s trying desperately to focus on the latest budget revisions for repaving the streets, but the numbers swim in front of her eyes as she finds herself thinking about cradles and diapers and names. She learned a long time ago not to put the cart before the horse, but the compulsive planner in her is already weighing paint samples against baby-proofed furniture finishes and as long as she doesn’t act on the thoughts, she can convince herself it’s idle daydreaming.

 

Dr. Whale was quite strict on the two week wait, but Regina sent Emma back to the B&B with a bag full of pregnancy tests anyway. They’ve spoken daily, but with very little grace on Emma’s part, with some conversations consisting of little more than a sigh and a roll of the eyes. It would seem Miss Swan has become adept at losing herself in the relatively small area of Storybrooke, and without Graham’s help Regina would be at a loss to unearth the girl some days.

 

It’s still two days until the test can be taken, and so Regina is back to focusing on the budget when the telephone rings.

 

“Yes?” She snaps, unsure why her assistant hasn’t announced the call.

 

“Madam Mayor? It’s Emma,” she says, and Regina can’t exactly fault her on the manners. There’s a hitch in Emma’s breath that suggests... no, Regina can’t allow her hopes to be dashed. Patience, just a little more patience.

 

“Was there something you needed, Miss Swan?” Regina says, and it’s not quite as bored or businesslike as it might be.

 

“I, uh, don’t get mad or anything,” Emma hedges, causing Regina to roll her eyes. “But I couldn’t wait. I took the test, in fact I took three.”

 

“And?” Regina snaps, hardly daring to believe the moment of truth is here already.

 

“Well, it looks like you knocked me up,” Emma says, laughing around the words. “You’re having a baby, Regina.”

 

Regina’s so happy she doesn’t even flinch at the informality. The surge that courses through her chest is so powerful she can’t breathe, and it’s stronger than she dared to hope after all these years of pleasant numbness. It’s as though the world has suddenly turned on its volume and brightened every color, and she presses shaking fingers to her forehead to let the sensation sink in.

 

“Really?” Regina gasps. “Are you sure?”

 

“I might not be a rocket scientist,” Emma snarks back. “But even I can tell the difference between a plus and a minus. Definitely positive. Three times.”

 

“That’s wonderful news,” Regina says warmly, her calm mask slipping back into place by degrees. “If you don’t have plans, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight, Miss Swan. This is news worth celebrating.”

 

“On one condition,” Emma has the cheek to fire back. 

 

“Name it,” Regina sighs, wondering if she’s about to be blackmailed into chili fries or some other monstrosity.

 

“You call me by my first name,” Emma demands, but she sounds impossibly young, almost shy as she says it.

 

“Very well, Emma,” Regina agrees. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Isn’t Emma here?” Regina asks as she takes a seat at the diner counter.

 

“She’ll be down in a minute,” Ruby says sweetly, her smile partly concealing the impressive canines that Regina knows lurk beneath. “You got some baby mama drama, huh?”

 

“What?” Regina snaps, turning the full fury of her glare on Ruby, who shrinks back instinctively.

 

“I, uh, I just mean that I saw all the pregnancy stuff when I was cleaning the room, and Mr. Gold mentioned--”

 

“What exactly did he mention?” Regina demands, her knuckles turning white as she grips the counter. That smoothie-drinking, yoga-posing little imp is pressing on her last nerve. 

 

“Just that you were going to have a baby. Well, that Emma is going to have your baby. That she’s your baby mama,” Ruby finishes brightly, back on familiar ground.

 

“What does that even mean?” Regina asks, despairing of how well Ruby has adapted to this unfortunate world.

 

“You know: she has the baby, you pay for everything,” Ruby explains. “Did you want some coffee while you wait?”

 

“No, thank you,” Regina answers automatically. “But doesn’t your strange little term imply some kind of... relationship?”

 

“It doesn’t have to,” Ruby says, smiling across the diner at Graham, who’s skulking around by the dartboard and hoping Regina isn’t there for him.

 

“Well, I can assure you...” Regina starts to say, but she’s distracted by the sight of Emma striding across the diner towards her, in a short but stunning deep pink dress, with black heels that she walks in with surprising confidence. It’s more of a strut, really, and Regina hasn’t seen anyone else carve a path through the room like that in almost three decades.

 

“Ready for dinner?” Emma asks, and there’s nothing remotely coy about her smile. Regina feels underdressed in her sharp gray pencil skirt and matching blazer, but there’s nothing to be done about that now. She can always pop a button on her blouse in the car.

 

“How did you know I didn’t mean to stay here and have burgers?” Regina asks, hands on her hips.

 

“You don’t seem the type,” Emma says with a shrug. “But say the word and I can go change.”

 

“That won’t be necessary,” Regina says, just a fraction too quickly. She can feel Ruby’s scrutinizing gaze, and suddenly it’s very important that she get the hell away from this diner. “Come along, we have a reservation.”

 

“You’re the boss,” Emma says breezily, and Regina can’t help the flicker of a smile that tugs at her lips. Perhaps this obligatory celebration won’t be such a chore after all.

 

***

 

“Hey!” Emma protests as Regina shoots down yet another menu choice. “This isn’t a date, you don’t get to order for me.”

 

“You’re the one trying to order seafood,” Regina points out calmly.

 

“It’s Maine,” Emma points out. “Why wouldn’t I have the lobster?”

 

“Because you’re pregnant,” Regina hisses, and they both just stare at the bread basket for a moment after that particular reality is brought into conversation. “Seafood is off the menu for the next nine months,” Regina says as she recovers. “In fact, I’ve had some nutritional advice pulled together for you, and I can tell Granny to cook the meals for you every day.”

 

“Uh,” Emma is struck dumb by both the kindness and the creepy, controlling nature of the offer. “I mean, I eat fine. You don’t have to do that.”

 

“I’ve already given her a list of acceptable foods. Just don’t let her fry everything. Granny loves to fry,” Regina says with a wry twist of her lips that makes Emma feel like she wants to smile at her. She might be a snob, and a control freak, but Regina seems like she’s going to make a pretty good mom. 

 

Which makes Emma feel a pang of guilt so strong that she knocks over the water glass she was reaching for.

 

Regina waves down a waiter and the mess is cleaned up before more than a few drops can get on Emma’s one nice dress.

 

“Can I have a Coke instead?” She asks, ignoring Regina’s glare. “It’s a celebration, after all.”

 

The waiter looks to Regina for permission, and she nods stiffly. Emma tunes out as her meal is ordered for her, since she doesn’t know what the French words mean anyway. They should at least write an English translation underneath, or go full McDonald’s and give a girl pictures to point at.

 

“And the tomatoes are organic?” Regina is asking, seeming to enjoy the way their waiter is squirming.

 

“I uh, believe so, Madam Mayor,” he stammers.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Emma says kindly. “Only rich people who hate themselves, and food, care about organic.”

 

She’s expecting a grateful smile from the young guy, but he looks at her like she just suggested they walk in front of an oncoming train.

 

“I suppose Miss Swan has a point,” Regina says, but it doesn’t sound as gracious as it’s supposed to. “Whatever the chef has chosen will be fine.”

 

“Storybrooke has some of the highest quality organic produce in the state,” Regina says huffily, once the waiter has fled in the direction of the kitchen. “As Mayor, I’ve encouraged local farmers to be self-sufficient.”

 

“That’s... impressive?” Emma tries, wondering if she’s somehow been dragged into a tourist brochure. “It’s a little, um, quiet around here though sometimes?”

 

“What did you do to fill your time before?” Regina asks, and Emma feels sweat prickle on her hairline, like it’s the scene in a cop drama where the bright light gets shone in the suspect’s face.

 

“I looked for people, mostly,” Emma admits. “At first I was just helping out a private detective, but then I got into the bail bondsperson game and that... well, it kept me busy.”

 

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Regina asks, toying with the rim of her wineglass. Her consideration hasn’t extended to skipping alcohol, and the rich red wine in the glass is making Emma’s mouth water just a little.

 

“It’s not like I had a lot of options,” Emma says, unsure why she’s sharing this much. “I barely scraped through high school, college wasn’t an option. It was the best way to make the most money with the skills I have.”

 

“What would you have done, if you’d had the choice?” Regina asks, and she seems a little like she didn’t mean to ask the question, but the curiosity in those dark eyes seems as genuine as anything Emma’s seen before.

 

“It’s silly,” Emma fumbles around for a plausible lie. In the end, only the truth springs to mind. “I like to put things together, you know, clothes? I didn’t have many things growing up, so I learned to change things, make them look like something new... it was fun, I suppose.”

 

“Fashion?” Regina asks, and the prissy way she purses her lips suggests she’s thinking about the clothes Emma’s been wearing around town. Well, designing clothes doesn’t mean you walk around like Heidi Klum, so as far as Emma’s concerned, Regina can bite her.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Emma says, relieved to see the salads being brought to the table. Maybe that will stop any more interrogation.

 

Regina starts haranguing the waiter about the salad dressing, and Emma sips her Coke in relief.

 

***

 

Ruby’s waiting when Regina drops Emma off outside the B&B. Her long legs are swinging from the porch railing, but she has the sense to keep mostly to the shadows, meaning the Mayor doesn’t see her before driving off.

 

“How was your date?” Ruby sing-songs, leaning forward just enough for the streetlights to catch the red streaks in her hair. Her skin glows in a way that makes Emma almost uncomfortable, and it’s just then that she decides Friday night isn’t over yet.

 

“Wasn’t a date,” Emma says, looking down at her best pair of heels, with only one scrape mark on them, and her sure-thing party dress that’s always, _always_ gotten her laid. “But what do you say we raid the liquor shelf in the diner and make a night of it, hmm?”

 

“But aren’t you...”

 

“One night won’t hurt. Lots of women don’t find out until months down the line,” Emma says, grinning at her newest friend. “And that’s supposed to be a secret, Ruby.”

 

“Right,” Ruby nods, easing herself off the railing and bounding down the steps towards Emma. “But one thing you should probably know about small towns, city girl? Nothing ever stays secret for long.”

 

***

 

Three hours later, Graham’s police car comes rolling into the tiny playground they’ve taken over, and he almost breaks his neck on a discarded bottle of rum as he approaches the swing set that Emma and Ruby are leaning against.

 

“Ruby,” Emma teases. “Did you order me a stripper?”

 

“Settle down, ladies,” Graham says, but he puts up no resistance when Emma starts pulling his jacket off. “Emma,” he starts to say, but they all know that it’s already too late.

 

***

 

This time, he has the good sense to be gone before Emma wakes up.

 

***

 

Regina tries to stay ‘hands off’, she honestly does. It takes every scrap of willpower and a padding of her Mayoral schedule that has half the town shaking in fear of her sudden attention, but aside from a daily text, call or ‘accidental’ meeting at Granny’s, she leaves Emma to her own devices.

 

Well, she has Sidney monitor the girl from a safe distance; Regina is not, after all, a complete idiot.

 

Until the morning she detours to the diner for an additional cup of coffee that she neither needs nor wants, and arrives just in time to see Emma almost break her neck on the porch outside the B&B. In that second gut instinct very much takes the wheel, and even as Regina is scooping the barely-injured girl in her barely-appropriate denim skirt off the sidewalk, the offer is tumbling from her lips.

 

Well, it’s intended as an offer. That it comes out sounding more like an order is not exactly something Regina can do much about. Emma actually looks scared, before nodding vigorously and stammering ‘yes’ a few times.

 

Regina calls Graham to pick up everything once Ruby has packed it. While the now-necessary coffee is brewing, she places a second call to her secretary and cancels her day. There’s a new project on the books, and Regina Mills is nothing if not a perfectionist.

 

***

 

It takes thirty seconds and about twelve steps inside the mansion before Emma confirms she’s made a huge mistake. 

 

“Miss Swan,” Regina says from somewhere behind her. “Your shoes.”

 

“Right,” Emma says, trying to roll the instant tension out of her shoulders. “Should I, uh--”

 

“There’s a shoe rack, right there,” Regina points and isn’t actually as unfriendly about it as she could be.

 

Emma wrestles out of her boots and feels Regina’s eyes on her the whole time, overly attentive to how Emma bends and the soft ‘ooft’ of relief when she pulls the battered leather free of her legs. 

 

“I’ll just go to my room,” Emma says quickly, not meeting Regina’s eyes. “I’m feeling a little tired. You know, from the morning sickness.”

 

“Of course,” Regina answers, with that politicians grin. She half-turns towards the staircase, gesturing towards it with an open palm like a bored tour guide. “Do you want the tour first or--”

 

“Honestly,” Emma insists. “I’d really rather lie down.”

 

She follows Regina up the winding stairs onto the creamy expanse of the second-floor hallway. Emma bites her tongue at the hundreds of comments that bubble up about how fancy the place is; she doesn’t trust herself to make it sound like enough of a compliment.

 

Then Emma’s being led into a ridiculous bedroom that cannot seriously be just for her. Apart from the occasional one-nighter in a business-class hotel, she’s never slept anywhere even close to this nice. The bed alone is the size of the studio apartment she left behind in Boston, the last month’s rent unpaid.

 

“I’ll let you settle in,” Regina says, although there’s not much to do until Graham brings Emma’s bags from the B&B. Instead, she flops down on the comforter and kicks her bare feet in the air, staring at all the fancy trinkets around the room, from the silver photo frames to the discreet flat-screen TV in the corner. It’s not exactly big enough to watch the game on, but if Regina has cable then Emma might not have made such a big mistake after all.

 

A few minutes later, Regina knocks on the still-open door, disturbing Emma’s exploration of the huge wooden closet in the corner of the room. Regina’s carrying a tray, and Emma’s stomach betrays her by grumbling loudly.

 

“Ginger ale,” Regina says quietly. “For the nausea. And I just threw together some crackers and also a sandwich, in case--”

 

“That’s great, really,” Emma says. “But you don’t have to wait on me or anything. I’m pretty good at looking after myself.”

 

Regina shoots her a look that says she knows better, and Emma tries not to wince at how quickly Regina’s seen through her. 

 

“If you want to take a bath, I put some things from my bathroom in here, but let me know what you use and I can pick it up at the store,” Regina continues, clearly running through some killer to-do list. Emma wonders fleetingly if anyone’s ever been organized to death. “Of course, some of my bath salts and oils might be a little rich,” Regina adds, getting at least a little dig in.

 

“I’m going to nap,” Emma says as kindly as she can. “But a bath later sounds nice.”

 

“Great!” Regina says, forcing the enthusiasm just a little too much. Emma picks up the glass of ginger ale and sips gratefully, which finally satisfies her new landlady. Regina leaves, insisting that Emma call the office for anything, anything at all. Emma smiles, and almost manages to make it look genuine.

 

***

 

“You’re late,” Emma accuses as he comes striding into the diner, biker boots clanking and drawing the attention of every woman in the place. 

 

“Hey, I’m not the one asking for near impossible favors,” August fires back, bending just long enough to kiss Emma’s cheek and let her pull away from the contact. “Welcome back, trouble.”

 

“Well?” She demands, impatient. The twelve-week mark is fast approaching, and she’s got a fake appointment today that’s allowed her a day of freedom in Boston.

 

“Have I ever let you down?” August asks, and Emma bites her tongue to prevent the laundry list of times when, yes, he damn well has from tumbling out. She’s finally learning not to piss people off when she wants something from them.

 

“Let me see the photo,” Emma insists.

 

“I got you a couple,” August says, trying and failing to look modest. “And I photoshopped in your details. This one,” he says, “is a healthy 12-week scan. There’s a 16 as well, but you shouldn’t need that. Still, can’t hurt to have in your back pocket if she gets twitchy.”

 

“Damn, I forgot how good you are when you get it right,” Emma says, squinting at the altered ultrasound prints. “I can practically feel the gel on my stomach, you bastard.”

 

“And my cut?” He presses, because old friends know how to call in a debt.

 

“Here’s $500,” Emma says, palming the roll of notes into his hand like they’re shaking on a deal. “You’ll get the rest when she gives me my next check.”

 

“So you’re living in a mansion now, huh?” He asks, tucking the money inside his leather jacket.

 

“It’s somewhere to crash,” Emma says with a shrug. “And trust me, you wouldn’t care about the Egyptian cotton sheets either if you had to live with someone like Regina.”

 

“What, she walks around nagging you all day? Doesn’t she have some fancy job?” August asks. He smiles at the waitress, who makes her way over. 

 

“Yeah, but it turns out that when it comes to bugging me, she has all the time in the world. I’m tempted to start burning down buildings to distract her,” Emma groans.

 

August orders burgers and beer for both of them, and Emma smiles at the familiarity. She’s never really had a family, but August is about as close as it gets. 

 

“Hold off on the arson,” August says as the waitresses walks away, swaying her hips at him. “It’s only a few more weeks until you bail, right?”

 

“Right,” Emma says, slumping with her hand under her chin.

 

“Still,” August says. “You want to think about some padding, skinny. Pregnant ladies don’t usually keep their six-pack.”

 

“Oh God, you’re right,” Emma sighs. “Guess I have to find somewhere in this damn city that will sell me some pillows.”

 

“You’ve got time,” August says, as the waitress comes back with their beers. “Now tell me what else you’ve been getting up to in the middle of nowhere.”

 

***

 

Regina stokes the fire once more with the heavy iron poker, trying to prolong the last of its warmth. She flicks the lamp beside her off, leaving the embers to give the study its only light; her eyes are already stinging, too tired to pretend to read anymore. Fall has arrived with a vengeance this year, and somehow it seems like they’re finally experiencing the real seasons of this world. There’s a nagging doubt at the back of her mind that this has something to do with having an outsider stay in town, but she pushes the thought away again with familiar stubbornness.

 

She wants this baby. She wants it so desperately that she can taste the longing in the air around her. Already she feels certain that it will be a son, the first step in breaking the cycle of fear between mothers and daughters that has plagued her own family tree for so long.

 

The clock in the hallway strikes three, and Regina swallows down another surge of panic. Emma hadn’t given a specific time for returning, and given that keeping a prisoner isn’t exactly an option right now, Regina has to let her go as and when Emma pleases. It’s just that with Emma leaving so early in the morning and still not returning, Regina can’t help but fear that the baby might be taken from her, whether intentionally or by some cruel twist of fate. It would be fitting, probably, since Regina herself has so often been the cruel twist of fate in the lives of others.

 

But then, as her knuckles turn white from gripping the poker a little too hard, there’s the now-familiar rattle of the Bug’s engine as it staggers to a stop in front of the garage. It’s still strange, after all this time, to use the other side of the driveway, to have it occupied by anything other than Regina’s own beloved Mercedes. Graham, despite the frequency of his visits, has always been relegated to parking on the street, though even that has stopped since his awkwardness around Emma caused Regina to all but banish him. She can do without their Saturday activities, anyway, because there’s so much more to focus on now.

 

Regina puts the poker back and crosses the room to the door. She steps out into the barely-lit foyer and waits for the sound of the key in the lock.

 

“Emma?” She asks as the door opens, sounding just a little frantic.

 

“Hi?” Emma stepping inside and offering an awkward little wave. She looks tired, still dressed in the battered red leather jacket and dark jeans that she left in. She’ll have to start dressing warmer, for her sake and the child’s, if she means to survive a winter in Maine. “I had, um, car trouble, so a friend gave me a ride home.”

 

“Oh,” Regina says. “I wondered, because I haven’t been to Boston in a while, do they still have phones there?” Well, she _tried_ to stay civil.

 

“Sorry,” Emma says, head dropping in apparent remorse. “I had an appointment, with my old doctor. And then I haven’t really seen my friends in nearly four months, so...”

 

Regina feels a wave of guilt wash over her, but that’s nothing compared to the more alarming news of a doctor’s visit.

 

“Is everything...okay?” She asks, rushing across the foyer to take Emma by the arm and guide her towards the stairs. “You should get to bed. Do you need anything?”

 

If this blonde, trashy idiot has done anything to harm Regina’s baby, she will not be held responsible for her actions. It’s only as they start to make their way up the stairs that Emma cries out in protest.

 

“You’re hurting me!” She yelps, and Regina releases her grip in an instant. 

 

“Sorry,” Regina says, not entirely meaning it. “I just wanted to get you off your feet.”

 

“Christ,” Emma says, rubbing her arm. “Relax, your egg is still safely in my basket, lady.”

 

“Nice,” Regina snaps. “This is how you talk to the woman writing you checks every month?”

 

“You’re the one who can’t have her own damn baby,” Emma shoots back, before biting down on her lip in shock. Clearly, she hadn’t intended to be quite that honest.

 

“Right,” Regina says, ashamed at how deeply the words have affected her. She can feel the tears welling, and starts climbing the rest of the stairs before they can betray her in front of this ungrateful upstart. “I’m going to bed. Do... whatever you need to do,” she throws back, over her shoulder.

 

Regina doesn’t wait to see if Emma will follow, she just walks briskly towards her bedroom and manages to slip inside without slamming the door. By the time she reaches her comfortable bed against the far wall, the tears are finally falling.

 

***

 

Well, fuck.

 

Emma stands frozen on the stairs, the last traces of alcohol buzz evaporating from her system as the shock sets in. That really could not have gone any worse. If Regina wasn’t a hundred percent convinced Emma had Regina’s bun in the oven, Emma would be out on the damn street right now. She’s raging inside, angry at herself for almost blowing it after so long and so much effort already. She has to make this right, Emma knows, because an angry Regina is most likely a suspicious Regina, and the last thing Emma needs is to be dragged to the hospital for any surprise check-ups.

 

She pats the right-hand pocket of her jacket, confident that the photo she needs most is still zipped up safely in there, and begins climbing the rest of the stairs. It’s only when Emma raises her hand to knock that she realizes that in almost two months of living there, she’s never seen the inside of Regina’s bedroom.

 

The knock, perhaps not that surprisingly, goes unanswered.

 

“Regina?” Emma calls out softly. “Regina, I wanted to apologize.”

 

There’s a muffled thump from inside the room, but no actual response. Emma screws up what little courage she has and turns the doorknob carefully. Inside she discovers a room even nicer than her own, lit only by a fancy lamp on the nightstand. Regina, still in the black robe she was wearing downstairs, is just a shaking lump on the bedspread.

 

“Regina?” Emma tries again as she approaches the bed, and she jumps in fright as Regina suddenly rears up to face her. 

 

“Get out,” Regina orders, and in that moment Emma feels like one of her Disney villains that stalked her childhood nightmares has suddenly come to life; Regina looks scary as all hell, even with tear-reddened eyes and hardly any makeup.

 

“I just wanted to show you this,” Emma says, pulling the ultrasound picture from her pocket, tamping down the sick feeling of guilt that suddenly rises up in her throat. “It’s why I went to see my old doctor today.”

 

“Yesterday,” Regina says, still pouting about the lateness.

 

“Look,” Emma insists, as Regina refuses to acknowledge the piece of paper being offered to her. She actually turns away, and Emma scrambles onto the bed in indignation.

 

“Look, dammit!” Emma shouts. “It’s your damn baby, okay?”

 

Regina’s face lights up at the mention of her child, and this time Emma really does worry that she’s going to puke. Why had she ever talked herself into this damn con? This isn’t robbing some big company by filling out false claims, where nobody really gets hurt. This is going to be a mess, Emma finally realizes, and she hates herself for it.

 

“Okay,” Regina says carefully, reaching for the photo. “But why not let me take you to the hospital--”

 

“I wanted to know for sure that everything is okay,” Emma says. “If... well, if there had been any problems, I didn’t want you to have to sit through that.”

 

“You were protecting me?” Regina asks, clearly shocked at the very idea. “And is everything okay?”

 

“Perfect, so far,” Emma lies smoothly. “The doc seemed totally happy. Especially because of all the vitamins you’ve been pouring down my throat.”

 

“And crushing up in your food,” Regina mutters, but Emma pretends not to hear, just for tonight.

 

“You’re not looking,” Emma says, her voice little more than a whisper. She feels out of place in her heavy clothes, kneeling on the smooth bedspread just in front of Regina.

 

“I’m scared,” Regina confesses, squeezing her eyes shut. Emma, in a fit of madness, reaches for Regina’s wrist.

 

“Look,” Emma repeats. “Trust me, you’ll be so glad you did.”

 

Regina reluctantly opens her eyes, and stares at the grainy black and white image for a long moment. She seems to be having the same trouble Emma did earlier--telling legs from arms and baby from background. But then it happens; it happens so powerfully and so brightly, that Emma feels like she just got caught out by a sudden sunrise.

 

Regina’s smilling--really smiling--and Emma feels like it’s maybe the prettiest sight she’s ever seen.

 

“This is my baby?” Regina asks, but her eyes are brimming with tears again already. “Do you know if--”

 

“Not for a few weeks yet,” Emma soothes. “But all signs point to a healthy baby, boy or girl.”

 

“Oh,” Regina says, clutching the photo to her chest. “It’s really happening.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma says, uneasy at lying so blatantly. She tries not to think about the fake pregnancy pillows in the trunk of her car, ready to be smuggled in when Regina leaves for work on Monday.

 

“Thank you,” Regina says, sounding as sincere as Emma has ever heard her. Those dark brown eyes are locked on Emma’s face, the dazzling smile beneath still in evidence. Emma figures this is a chance to make her escape, get back to her own room now that Regina is no longer mad.

 

“You’re welcome,” Emma says, realizing her hand is still gripping Regina’s wrist. Emma’s so busy wondering why, staring at her traitorous hand now, that she doesn’t see it coming. Regina leans over to kiss Emma on the cheek, but in a quirk of reflex action, Emma flinches just enough to make Regina catch her on the lips instead.

 

It doesn’t last even a whole second, before both women spring apart, acting like they’ve just received an electric shock.

 

Emma is ready to apologize, to cut her losses and run off into the night, when Regina’s hand (with Emma’s hand still clutching that damn wrist) rises up to cup Emma’s cheek.

 

“Thank you,” Regina says again. This time, as she leans in, her mouth quite intentionally lands on Emma’s, leading to a much, much longer kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. I know some of you are pissed at me for Emma in Chapter 2, but have a little faith because I'm sticking fairly close to the plot of Baby Mama. Also, here in Chapter 3 we find out that Regina is still the bad girl she always was.
> 
> It gets a little sexy, a little sad, and a little dangerous. So much so that it's now extended to a 4 chapter story. You'll be seeing the end very soon.

Emma does think about asking “are you sure?”

 

She also thinks about being the better person and stopping this right now, but Regina’s already on top of her, the fake ultrasound picture trapped somewhere between their bodies.

 

Her whole life Emma has been vaguely aware that it’s important to do the right thing - a couple of social workers stressed it to her while ferrying her to and from some of her seven homes - but she’s always been more comfortable doing the wrong thing, and that’s what stops her doing much beyond responding to Regina’s fervent kisses. At first it’s a simple matter of math: if Emma is to suddenly start ‘showing’ in the days and weeks to come, this is her last chance to let Regina see her in any kind of state of undress. But the second reason is a little more sinister, and just thinking it makes Emma hate herself a little more than she already does. 

 

If there’s one thing Emma knows for certain it’s that sex complicates things. With women, especially, it makes them clingy and far less inclined to let someone walk out of their life - Emma’s bought herself countless temporary apartment stays and favors that way. Sure, clingy might be tricky when Emma disappears with Regina’s money in the middle of the night, but it should sure as hell keep her sweet for the next couple of months. It might not even be hard to swear off sex after this, make it all about Regina and claim that pregnancy is killing Emma’s sex drive. 

 

She can worry about that tomorrow, though, because right now, Emma’s a little too interested in how damn good Regina is at kissing.

 

***

 

It isn’t supposed to end in a bed-rocking, curse-uttering explosion of an orgasm, but it turns out that once Regina’s head is between Emma’s legs? There really was never going to be any other outcome.

 

“Thank you,” Regina mutters, starting to kiss her way back up Emma’s naked, trembling body. Regina lingers, to Emma’s dismay, over her not-that-rounded stomach and places a kiss so sweet that Emma starts to cry. “Thank you,” Regina whispers again, and in the still of the room (despite Emma’s almost silent sobbing) it’s as loud as a scream.

 

***

 

Regina, who dislikes so many things about Emma (her clothes, her taste in music, her stubborn refusal to live on what she calls ‘rabbit food’) is dismayed to discover just how much she likes touching the other woman. Which, even then, pales in comparison to just how much Regina likes _being_ touched by Emma, whose hands seem far more steady than Regina’s own did. 

 

“Oh,” Regina says as Emma peels away the flimsy silk of her nightgown. “Well,” is the only other word she can gasp as Emma’s teeth graze Regina’s collarbone.

 

“Hold on,” Emma whispers, her breath warm against Regina’s skin. She swallows the protest that rises up and, for once, does exactly as she’s told.

 

***

 

Morning sneaks up on her, but Regina manages to wake just before her alarm as usual, blinking in the gray light that suggests only rain clouds await beyond the curtains. She looks down in surprise to find herself naked, barely covered by the sheets at all. There’s a pleasant ache between her thighs and a certain dampness when she moves that bring a lazy smile to her lips, but when she turns towards the center of the bed, it’s not Graham’s sleeping form that she’s greeted with.

 

A riot of blonde curls is taking up most of a pillow, one that’s pulled halfway down the bed because apparently Emma Swan’s lack of proper manners includes not being able to sleep like a grown adult.

 

“Get up,” Regina says, her voice more of a growl as she pokes the sleeping girl right on the shoulder blade.

 

“What the hell?” Emma groans, before waking up enough to gather her wits and scramble out of bed in a panic. She neglects to take a sheet to cover herself with, and Regina finds herself enjoying the view all over again. 

 

“I don’t recall inviting you to sleep here,” Regina says, pulling the comforter up high on her chest. 

 

“You did mutter something about pancakes before you passed out though,” Emma reminds her, before dropping her head back for an unguarded yawn. It’s only when she rubs her bare stomach that Regina remembers her gratitude and reaches for the robe that’s fallen on the floor. 

 

“Fine,” Regina grumbles. “But no butter, and you really must have some fruit with them.”

 

“Fascist,” Emma mutters, but she’s putting her clothes back on with a cheeky grin. “Is this the part where you do the ‘this can never happen again’ speech? I’ll start for you. It goes ‘Emma, about last night...’”

 

“Do you want pancakes or not?” Regina snaps, embarrassed at being somehow so predictable. 

 

“You can’t deny me them now,” Emma says. “I’m going to shower and get dressed.”

 

“Fine,” Regina grumbles, retreating towards the safety of her own bathroom. She steps on something smooth and cool, and when she bends to pick it up she discovers the sonogram picture there on the carpet. She shoves it in the pocket of her robe and doesn’t look back.

 

***

 

Emma strolls into town, full from breakfast but already thinking about lunch. Something about Regina’s healthy diet leaves her craving every sugary, greasy food she can think of. Maybe Granny will have some bear claws left from the morning coffee rush.

 

Her path to the diner is blocked, though, by a group of Storybrooke’s residents, milling around and chattering so animatedly that Emma almost expects to find a dead body when she pushes through the crowd.

 

“What’s going on?” She asks, and it’s Archie who answers her. She likes the guy well enough but he offered her some free therapy right after she mentioned the baby situation with Regina and that felt sort of rude. Regina’s a bit of a strange cookie, Emma is the first to admit, but she’s not enough to drive someone into therapy.

 

“The clock!” He says, pointing at it like the old dude from Back to the Future. “It’s working!”

 

“Clocks tell time,” Emma says slowly, and some days she misses Boston and real cities so much she could cry. Although sometimes it’s nice to feel like the smartest person in the room. “Right?”

 

“This one hasn’t worked for as long as anyone can remember,” someone else says, and Emma turns around to find the woman with the short, dark hair, who’s always at Granny’s on the mornings Emma stumbles in before eight. “Something must have changed. It’s Emma, right?”

 

“Ye...ah?” Emma says.

 

“Mary Margaret,” she says, offering her hand in the cutest little handshake that Emma can’t bring herself to ignore. “I see you in Granny’s sometimes. In fact, I’m going there now, if you wanted to get some hot chocolate?”

 

“Sure,” Emma agrees, almost before she can stop herself. The last thing she needs to do right now is make any more friends, but it sort of feels like she doesn’t have any say in the matter.

 

***

 

Regina occupies herself with a thrashing of the weeds at the furthest reaches of her garden. Usually the gardener sends one of his boys back there with a machete, but Regina takes a certain pleasure in picking the tools out of the shed once Emma leaves, and whacking at every unwanted piece of foliage until her arms ache and the sweat is running down her back in rivers. 

 

She’s so absorbed in the task at hand that she doesn’t hear anyone approaching, although Kathryn’s face when a startled Regina swings around still holding a chainsaw is definitely a sight to see. 

 

“When did you buy a tank top?” Kathryn asks, keeping her distance as they walk back towards the house for lunch. Regina looks down in dismay, realizing that in her zeal to put on casual clothes and get on with the gardening, she’s picked up something that doesn’t even belong to her.

 

“Oh,” she says after a moment, peeling soaked white cotton away from her skin. “Just a ratty old thing. Didn’t want to ruin anything nice in the garden.”

 

***

 

Emma really wasn’t intending to stay out all day, but the sky is already darkening by the time she gets free of Mary Margaret. Cocoa turned into lunch which somehow turned into a movie with Ruby tagging along, and for the first time in years Emma could almost imagine having real friends again, people other than August who disappeared from her life for months at a time, who could talk about something other than stealing and conning.

 

It also means she’s eaten so much crap today she could quite cheerfully puke in Regina’s rose bushes, but it can’t exactly hurt to put on a little extra weight. Maybe she’ll grab some protein bars and energy drinks to really bulk up, it’s all a lot more possible when she has Regina’s money safely stashed in her bank account.

 

She’s approaching the front porch when Graham practically leaps out of the shadows, scaring her half to death. Her shriek makes him cover his ears, and for a moment he looks like a puppy who knows he’s about to be smacked with a rolled-up newspaper. 

 

“We need to talk,” he mumbles, as she unclenches her fists and takes a breathless step back.

 

“Nuh uh,” Emma disagrees, shaking her head. “I told you: one and done.”

 

“But everyone in town is saying you’re pregnant,” Graham persists. “Regina put in an order for a stroller at Jemima’s store.” 

 

“People are actually called Jemima?” Emma asks, hands on hips. This is the weirdest town she’s ever lived in, and she spent two years moving around Florida.

 

“They are,” Graham says, and he’s so earnest it almost distracts from the slightly wild look in his eyes. “And it occurred to me that it might be--”

 

“Stop right there,” Emma says, almost tempted to unburden herself after a while of feeling really guilty about the deception. She sticks to common sense, in the end. “We were safe, okay? And there’s no way this is your baby.”

 

“Are you sure?” He persists, and it’s almost like he wants it to be true. Is being under Regina’s thumb really that unbearable? Emma hasn’t minded it, except the kale. That weird green shit is just a step too far. 

 

“Graham, trust me,” Emma says, and he looks so pathetic she lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. “There’s no way you’re about to be a proud papa, okay? Unless Regina used your...”

 

“No!” Graham says hastily. “No, she didn’t. She asked, but she changed her mind. You know, lately I feel like she’s someone else entirely. Like I don’t know her at all.”

 

“Right,” Emma assures him. “I haven’t looked beyond the ice cream but she seems the ‘dead husband’s sperm in the freezer’ type, you know?”

 

“Did you want to go get a drink?” Graham tries then. “Only I’m off duty in twenty minutes...”

 

“No thanks,” Emma says, and she’s a little surprised that she isn’t even tempted. “Got to check in with the baby mama.”

 

She waves Graham away and then bounds up the steps, although she isn’t late for anything in particular. Whenever Emma shows up, Regina usually has dinner ready in twenty minutes flat. Emma pulls the key from her pocket and lets herself in. When nobody appears to welcome her, she convinces herself that she isn’t disappointed.

 

***

 

Regina watches from the window as Graham retreats towards the squad car. He even turns back twice, the pathetic fool, but the door slamming downstairs has already confirmed Emma’s usual graceless entrance. 

 

Reaching for the handle, Regina pulls the window closed. It’s a futile gesture, really, because it can’t erase the conversation she just overheard from her mind. After disobedience, her mother had always punished snooping severely, and Regina can’t help wishing she’d learned from the beatings and the cruel magic tricks that made her cry for days on end. 

 

She hears the sound of footsteps advance and retreat on the lower level of the house, holding her breath until she’s sure Emma isn’t coming upstairs anytime soon.

 

A plan. Regina needs a plan. Already she can feel the bile rising in her throat, the quickening of breath that says she must do something decisive, something permanent. 

 

The curse remains intact, despite the mutterings today about the clock above the library. That means Graham shouldn’t be able to father anyone’s child, still, but Regina no longer feels like taking the risk. This talk about not knowing her is troubling, but he never was the brightest star in the sky.

 

She considers going to Gold, pushing just a little harder on his created life story, finding out once and for all if the cracks she suspects do actually exist. She says words from the old world in his presence sometimes, just to see if he’ll flinch, but the bastard has centuries of practice and she still feels just a little under his thumb, even here. 

 

“Regina?” Emma calls up the stairs then, jolting Regina from her plotting. Actually her name is mangled in the girl’s terrible diction, sounding more like “‘Gina”, and that’s enough to make Regina’s blood run cold all over again.

 

“Coming,” Regina calls back. She’ll give Graham one last chance to prove his loyalty to her, and keep a much closer eye on the walking trouble downstairs. And, she remembers on the way down, she’s going to take that tank top from the laundry and burn it, so she can never make such a stupid mistake again. 

 

***

 

The atmosphere over dinner is about as warm as a Canadian winter, so Emma doesn’t push her luck. She could clear out to the diner afterwards, keep Ruby company for the dullsville that is a Saturday night shift, but something in Emma just wants to curl up and watch some crappy TV for a while.

 

“I’m gonna have an early night,” Emma says, having helped carry the dishes into the kitchen. Regina says nothing, just gives one of those tight little smiles that she’s so good at, and Emma slinks off towards the stairs

 

***

 

Graham looks nervous as he crosses the wet grass, making his way through gravestones when the path runs out.

 

“Madam Mayor?” He says, the worlds mangled a little by his refusal to open his mouth fully. It’s been almost a week since he last showed up to bother Emma, and he looks even more frantic than he did then.

 

“Graham,” she replies, forcing the panic into her voice. “Thank God you’re here.”

 

“You think someone broke into the mausoleum?” He asks, already inspecting the door handles as an excuse not to look at her.

 

“Don’t worry about that,” Regina soothes, laying her hand on his forearm and squeezing it through the leather of his jacket. “Why don’t you just take me home, hmm?”

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, recoiling from her touch. Hell, the overgrown idiot actually backs into the wall in his haste to escape her. “I, uh, don’t think we should see each other anymore, your M--”

 

“What did you say?” Regina snaps, and Graham goes so pale that there’s a greenish tinge to it. “Have you been seeing someone else?” Regina asks, and her attempt at nonchalance fools no one, but she can’t acknowledge the slip, can’t throw any fuel on the fire.

 

“Not exactly,” Graham admits. “Although I was thinking about it. Maybe in a few months?”

 

“You mean Emma Swan,” Regina says, advancing on him and jabbing a finger into his chest to punctuate her words. “Well, Sheriff, she is off limits to the likes of you.”

 

“I think that’s... up to Emma?” Graham ventures, his voice getting unnaturally high. “Let me go, Regina. Please.”

 

“Fine,” she says after a long moment. “But it’s my understanding the girl wants nothing to do with you. And Graham?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You stay the hell away from her until my baby is born, do you hear?”

 

He nods, and slinks off into the growing shadows, breaking into a jog after just a few steps.

 

Regina considers a moment--yes, the familiar sting of rejection is irritating--but the quiet is pierced by the howling of a wolf, right before the town clock begins to chime the hour. The curse is weakening, she can’t deny it any longer. If she’s to have her child, her happy ending, she can’t be denied by a wildling raised by wolves; more than that, she won’t allow it.

 

She steps inside the dusty darkness of the mausoleum, offering a silent greeting to the departed spirit of her father, almost by rote. He’d be disappointed in her all over again, but no doubt he’d still fail to stop her. 

 

It’s harder, this time. Twenty-six years out of practice, and her fingers seem to resist the instruction to squeeze. The heart feels cold, just raw meat in her grip.

 

The dust comes eventually, sprinkling the floor and Regina’s shoes with the careless disregard of something that no longer exists. She closes her eyes, wipes her hands on a handkerchief pulled from her purse, and exhales slowly. 

 

Funny, she hadn’t expected to actually miss him.

 

***

 

Emma is the one to break the news, because the hospital called the Mayoral mansion, yet another nurse glossing over the seemingly inescapable fact that Regina is the emergency contact for most people in town.

 

“Regina, I know you cared about him--”

 

Regina cuts her off with a wave of her hand. 

 

“We’ll organize a funeral. Day after tomorrow.”

 

***

 

The town seems more alive in the face of death; it’s the first one they’ve faced since leaving the Enchanted Forest. Regina holds her breath every time the murmurs get a little loud, when the sentiment seems a little too genuine. The curse hasn’t been tested by this much emotion before, but thankfully they all seem to calm as the service progresses, leaving only Emma and her messy tears as a cause for concern. She sits at Regina’s side, in her own black pants and a blazer borrowed from Regina with a shamefaced request that morning. 

 

“It’s okay,” Regina says uselessly, patting Emma’s hand. It only makes her cry harder, which embarrasses Regina even further. 

 

The service is tolerable, but the wake afterwards is suffocating. Regina regrets opening her home to these people before the first tray of canapés makes it around the living room. Emma perks up in the presence of Mary Margaret, and there’s a lot of awkward hugging between those two and Ruby Lucas as the afternoon wears on.

 

“Regina,” Emma says as the crowd starts to noticeably thin. “This was nice and all, but this isn’t how you say goodbye to someone.”

 

“No?” Regina asks, eyebrow arched in question. There’s been no physical contact between them since that one ill-advised night, but as Emma invades Regina’s personal space completely, it’s distracting to realize how easily she could reach out and touch Emma.

 

“Let’s get rid of the guests, and then you need to get changed,” Emma says, and the wink she finishes with is somehow all the encouragement Regina needs.

 

***

 

“No,” Emma says for the third time, rolling her eyes at the ensemble Regina is parading in front of her. “This is you letting go a little?”

 

“Well, we are going to a _nightclub_ ,” Regina retorts, hands on her hips in the honest, defiant belief that a flowing skirt and blouse is somehow letting her hair down. She looks ready for another day at the office. “This skirt does have a slightly higher split, you know.”

 

Emma’s had enough. Her ankles are kind of sore from wearing heels most of the day, and Regina had frowned so hard at Emma kicking them off during the wake that National Geographic probably called to find out about the new canyon that had formed on her forehead.

 

“Trust me,” Emma says, as if she hasn’t asked that too many times already. “And let me pick something out.”

 

***

“Miss Swan,” Regina protests as she slinks towards the car in impossibly high heels, desperately pulling at the hem of her dress to make it seem lower than it is. “This is not appropriate.”

 

***

 

It’s a Thursday night, which isn’t exactly the most thrilling time of the week in Storybrooke, but the Rabbit Hole is especially dismal given that most people are slumped in booths and drinking their way towards oblivion. Some kind of sad folk music is playing at a low volume, and Emma thinks she picks out something Irish about it. Sweet, really, since Graham played a lot of that around the station on the days when they waded through paperwork.

 

Regina reads the room like the pro that she is, but where she would usually stride across to join the most important table in the room, she hangs back at Emma’s side, uncharacteristically nervous. Emma, for her part, has picked a flowing maternity top that makes her look deceptively pregnant even without a cushion, although she’s planning to start slipping those under her clothes in the coming days. It buys her a couple more months, at least.

 

“Drink?” She asks, even though she’ll effectively be paying with Regina’s money. That $20 had been just sitting on the kitchen counter, after all, so it was probably meant for Emma in the first place.

 

“You can’t--” Regina starts to say, but Emma treats her to another atomic-grade eyeroll. She knows, already. Doesn’t stop her ordering a sneaky shot of tequila to drink while her back is turned to Regina, though. It makes Emma feel much more confident about the two vodka martinis she brings back for the Mayor.

 

“One after the other,” Emma encourages, off Regina’s disapproving look. “We need to get this place livened up.”

 

“On the day of a funeral?” Regina snaps. 

 

“Life goes on,” Emma says. “And I’m sure you don’t want people dwelling on something so sad. Can’t be good for... town spirit, or whatever.”

 

“Since when do you care about town spirit, Miss Swan?” Regina demands.

 

Emma shuts up, because it’s a little too good of a question.

 

***


	4. Chapter 4

“But the thing... the thing... um,” Regina loses her train of thought again as the loud rock music overwhelms everything. Apparently Ruby raided Graham’s sad little apartment and retrieved his favorite CDs, which now blast over the club’s terrible PA system.

 

“Rum?” Emma asks, and if Regina hadn’t seen her drinking orange juice all night, she’d assume Emma was pretty drunk, too.

 

“No,” Regina says, shaking her head, which is a really awful idea when it comes to balance. “Mr. Gold.”

 

“He’s a dick?” Emma asks, leaning in with a conspiratorial wink.

 

“Did you know,” Regina responds, too far gone to care. “That he basically ruined my whole life?”

 

“Well,” Emma says, knocking back the rest of her juice and not-very-successfully stifling a burp. “We should do something about that.”

 

***

 

Emma didn’t really mean for the night to turn out this way, but there’s something to be said for the sight of Regina, no longer caring about her scandalous hemline, throwing a garbage can at the window of Gold’s dingy pawn shop. 

 

The glass shatters in such a satisfying way that Emma almost forgets to run. Thankfully she’s been in so much trouble over the years that her legs move before her brain can catch up.

 

Regina is not much help, hand over her mouth to cover an excited scream of what might just be relief.

 

“That felt great!” She confesses, as Emma yanks her towards the back alley to make a hasty escape.

 

***

 

The Deputy responds much slower than Graham would have, but Regina has only barely found a stack of wooden crates to hide behind when the beam of a flashlight splays across the bricks.

 

“Maybe I should go out there and--” Regina starts to say, concentrating especially hard not to slur her words, but Emma clamps a cool hand over Regina’s mouth. 

 

“Shut up,” Emma hisses in her ear. “Or do you really want to spend the night in a cell?”

 

Regina conjures a witty reply, but something in her brain short-circuits when she thinks of being locked in that confined space with Emma. Something in her subconscious conjures the image of Regina handcuffed to those sturdy metal bars, and Emma kneeling--

 

Jesus Christ, just what are they putting in martinis these days?

 

Shaking her head, Regina nips at the skin of Emma’s palm to make her remove the unwanted hand, but Emma holds firm until the deputy moves off down the street. 

 

***

 

They’re hysterical with laughter by the time Emma drags Regina through her front door. It’s only then that Regina seems to suddenly sober.

 

“The baby! I’ve been leaning on you all night and all that running can’t--”

 

“Ssh,” Emma soothes. “I’m fine. The doctor said to get plenty of exercise.”

 

“I thought I would be tired,” Regina says. “But I’m not. I got you a present, do you want it now?”

 

“I love presents!” Emma squeals, ignoring the pang of guilt. Besides, knowing Regina it’s going to be some ten-thousand-page book about how to be a lady, or something. 

 

She’s actually speechless, then, when Regina leads her into the den and shows her a brand new games console, all boxed up with a karaoke game and all the extras, sitting on the coffee table.

 

“This is for me?” Emma gasps, genuinely touched.

 

“I asked Ruby what you like,” Regina admits. “I can’t take credit. But now that Graham is... no longer with us, I thought you might appreciate the distraction.”

 

If she hadn’t sneaked four shots of tequila, Emma might point out that even a foster kid knows a shiny new toy is no replacement for a person, but Regina looks like she’s going to burst from holding her breath in anticipation.

 

“I love it!” Emma says, and although it goes against just about every rule she has, she tries to summon what a good person like Mary Margaret would do, and extends her arms to Regina. For a moment, Regina just stares, like Emma is trying to communicate in semaphore and Regina has forgotten this particular signal. But then she gets it, and Emma moves in for the kill. No, for the hug. God, this human affection crap is way too complicated.

 

Regina, of course, is about as pliant as a plasterboard wall, but Emma wraps her arms around the rigid Mayor anyway, inhaling deeply the rich tones of Regina’s perfume.

 

“I really need to get changed,” Regina mutters. “This dress is indecent.”

 

“You can keep it,” Emma says softly. “Every woman should have at least one dress that makes her feel a little slutty.”

 

“What a healthy message,” Regina sighs, and Emma actually hears her eyes rolling back, it’s so pronounced.

 

A minute later, Emma realizes the hug hasn’t actually ended. She’s about to pull away when Regina speaks again.

 

“Is the baby... is it kicking yet? I know it’s early, but I read that sometimes--”

 

“Not yet,” Emma says, the guilt rising up in the back of her throat, the taste of bile all she can process in that moment. Regina looks so _hopeful_ that Emma wants the ground to swallow her up. She should never have let August talk her into something too big to handle. “I’ll uh... keep you posted though. Anyway, I’m pretty beat...”

 

“Of course, you should rest,” Regina says, back in babysitting mode. “I’ll bring you some warm milk up before I go to bed.”

 

“It’s okay,” Emma insists, but she knows she’s going to get it anyway.

 

***

 

Wiping the excessive makeup from her face doesn’t take long, but Regina lingers in front of the mirror, examining herself. 

 

She hasn’t had reckless, stupid fun like that since... well. It reminds her of Daniel and his naive insistence on just doing whatever she wanted; Regina fights the frown at remembering exactly where that had gotten them. 

 

Fresh pajamas take no more than a minute to change into, and still feeling tipsy, Regina is careful about negotiating the stairs, heating the milk in the microwave for safety’s sake. It’s times like these that she misses magic most, when she’s tired and just not trusting enough of this world’s ways.

 

Emma is waiting, fresh-faced and impossibly young, cross-legged on the bed despite being wrapped in one of Regina’s robes. Some bright red underwear preserves some modesty, but Regina still finds herself blushing until she focuses on the gentle curve of Emma’s stomach.

 

“Sleep well,” she says, trying not to make it sound like a command for once.

 

“You too,” Emma says, blowing on the milk to cool it. 

 

***

 

A hangover is one thing--Regina actually crawls to the en suite in search of aspirin--but the screeching noises from downstairs are quite another. Gulping water like she’s just found an oasis in the midst of the sands of Agrabah, Regina makes a mental note to speak to someone about better insulating the house. Otherwise the baby is going to be giving command crying performances with better acoustics than Carnegie Hall.

 

“What... what are you doing?” She croaks, when she finally pushes the door of the den open. Inside, she discovers Emma dancing _on_ the coffee table, apparently to some very loud song about kissing a girl. And liking it.

 

Oh.

 

The singing is apparently coming from Emma, too, and the girl hasn’t met a key she can’t butcher her way right back out of. Regina winces, before yanking the power cord from the wall.

 

“Hey!” Emma protests. “I was just about to level up!”

 

“To what?” Regina asks. “A stripper?”

 

“Rude,” Emma retorts, but she’s climbing down off the table with a sheepish grin, her oversized Nirvana t-shirt flapping around her thighs. “I thought the baby might appreciate some culture. So I started with Katy Perry.”

 

“You started with...” Regina can’t finish what she’s repeating, breaking off and pinching her nose instead.

 

“Hey, you want some breakfast?” Emma asks, bouncing on the soles of her feet like an overexcited child. “It’s about time I got a turn in the kitchen, anyway. And you need to soak up all those martinis.”

 

“That... might help,” Regina admits, thinking of the nights she’d drink herself to sleep on rich wine to avoid Leopold’s attentions, and the breakfasts a sympathetic cook would prepare for her. “I’ll just go shower quickly.”

 

“I’ll get started,” Emma promises. “Be down in twenty, if you can.”

 

***

 

Ten minutes later, it’s the smoke alarm that has her dashing back out of the shower.

 

***

 

Emma has hidden the worst of it by the time Regina comes rushing in. A quick stab of the broom handle has shut the damn alarm up, but the frying pan is never going to be quite the same again.

 

“Uh, the French toast kind of didn’t work,” Emma admits. “But the rest is fine.”

 

She nods towards the kitchen island, where freshly popped Pop Tarts (only a little burnt, because even the toaster is like a goddamned nuclear reactor in this house) and two glasses of Sunny D are waiting.

 

“I can’t eat that,” Regina complains, and somehow she manages to look bossy and totally composed, even though her robe is clinging to her wet skin, and there are drips of water from her hair making it worse by the second. They haven’t actually had a conversation about how it’s never going to happen again, but Regina’s Frosty the Snow Bitch routine plus Graham’s sudden death have put Emma’s libido on ice. 

 

There’s a serious thaw in process at the sight of hard nipples pressing against wet silk though.

 

“Eat one pop tart?” Emma asks, trying not to pout. “And then if you really hate it, we’ll go get breakfast at Granny’s.”

 

“It won’t interfere with your stadium tour?” Regina mocks, sitting to the sugary breakfast with a sigh. “Miss Swan, I hope my child isn’t developing a taste for this cuisine.”

 

“Oh, I bet he’s not. Or she.”

 

“Are you saying--”

 

“Just habit, I swear. It’s still too early to tell.”

 

“Tell me these Pop Tarts at least have fruit in them?”

 

Emma smiles her most winning smile. “Well, in a way, chocolate is kind of like a fruit...”

 

***

 

The town falls into a quiet sort of chaos without Graham around to do Regina’s bidding. She gave up on heart control about a year after Kurt was dealt with, Graham’s canine instincts responding marvelously to her training, meaning he could be more or less trusted to police the town without specific instructions.

 

Now, though, Storybrooke’s days have lost their repetitive quality. The clock moves, and the weather continues to be as erratic as the people on television complain about. Regina huddles into a warm coat and misses the micro-climate of warm drizzle. She appoints Sidney as Sheriff, and the only person to challenge her on it is Emma, over dinner.

 

“A reporter as Sheriff? What counts as deadly force: a papercut?” Emma sassed, shovelling pasta into her mouth like wheat was about to be made illegal. At least the girl is starting to show now, her belly nicely rounded in a way that makes Regina’s heart skip a beat every time she sees it. 

 

With the citizens of Storybrooke back in their routine, Regina feels justified in leaving the office early again, eager to get home and inspect the babyproofing she ordered and had Geppetto spend the day installing. Maybe this will be the step that silences those nagging doubts, and makes it feel like a baby is truly on its way into her life.

 

***

 

Afternoon naps are totally the best part of being fake-pregnant.

 

Emma hauls her sleepy ass out of bed just after four, and maybe it’s all the trying to act pregnant and the extra weight of the strapped on cushion, but she really does need to pee a lot lately. The six-pack of Dr Pepper she’s been hiding in the mini-fridge and polished off just after lunch might not be helping there, admittedly.

 

Wrinkling her nose at the sleepy sight of herself in the giant mirror, Emma moves to flip the toilet lid up (the perk of no longer crashing somewhere with August is that the seat is never up) and to her horror, it rattles a little in her hand but doesn’t budge. She tries lifting the whole thing and still nothing. 

 

It’s only when she’s using her leg for leverage and straining every muscle in her arms that she notices the little while clip. God, Regina has finally gone the rest of the way around the bend.

 

Emma looks at what seems to be a very simple device, takes a deep breath, and attempts to liberate the damn toilet.

 

***

 

Regina doesn’t call out in case Emma is resting, more than likely given that the curtains in her room are closed. At least the karaoke obsession has waned a little, and for the most part Emma is eating the healthy things Regina prepares. For the sake of keeping the peace, Regina doesn’t mention the contents of the mini-fridge in Emma’s room, or the box of Twinkies hidden in the back of the pantry; some battles really aren’t worth fighting.

 

She heads upstairs to freshen up and change, the day clinging to her like smoke after a bonfire.

 

Opening her bathroom door shouldn’t be a heart-stopping experience, but when Regina pushes it open to find Emma Swan squatting in her sink, she’s quite sure the poor organ dies for a full minute.

 

“Uh,” Emma says, blushing furiously. “Someone locked all the toilets?”

 

***

 

Okay, but seriously? Who childproofs an entire freakin’ mansion over four months before a baby is even due? Emma is full of apologies until the insults starting tripping off Regina’s tongue, and then all bets are off.

 

It ends, as the worst fights do, with Emma sobbing in the bathtub and vowing to run in the middle of the night, never to be seen again.

 

***

 

Right after Emma’s ‘running away’ alarm sounds at three am, Regina knocks on the bedroom door.

 

“Please,” Regina begs, crawling under the covers beside Emma, who hasn’t dared to move beyond silencing her phone. “Don’t go. I won’t say those things again.”

 

“You’re in my bed,” Emma says, glad that the cushion is wedged firmly under the mattress. 

 

“I am,” Regina admits. “I’ve been meaning to try this since that night. With the ultrasound.”

 

“You’re saying if I show you pictures, I get laid?” Emma teases, but she’s already rolling onto her side, watching Regina in profile as she breathes, and it’s such a gorgeous sight that Emma thinks she might finally understand why people burst into tears when they see a really pretty painting for the first time. “I don’t have any more pictures right now,” she adds, running a solitary fingertip over the waistband of Regina’s pajama pants.

 

“I think we should do it anyway,” Regina says, as bossy as ever but maybe not quite as confident. “When I made you cry, I... I don’t want to be that kind of person. I don’t want to be that kind of mother.”

 

“Well, I’m not calling you Mommy,” Emma can’t resist the obvious joke. “But I can do this,” she finishes, slipping her hand beneath the fabric, until her fingertips graze soft, tight curls. 

 

“Yes,” Regina says, and coming from her mouth, it sounds like a foreign language.

 

***

 

Emma’s smart enough not to fall asleep again after, sneaking away when Regina’s soft snores start to sound in the dark room. 

 

She could still run.

 

Instead she pulls the pregnancy cushion out as quietly as she can and takes it into the bathroom with some fresh clothes, intent on showering and starting Tuesday in a much better way than Monday.

 

She traces the paths that Regina’s mouth and fingers charted, washing away the memories with shampoo and warm water. If she focuses on the scent of coconut and the tune she’s humming, Emma can almost convince herself she didn’t need that little repeat performance at all.

 

***

 

Regina wakes in Emma’s bed with a jolt, scrambling to get up even before her eyes are open.

 

“Morning,” Emma says from the chair by the window. She’s reading--an actual book--and with damp hair falling around her face and pink cheeks, Regina would have to say that Emma is glowing. Thankfully she doesn’t have to say it out loud. “I’m assuming this doesn’t change anything, right?”

 

“Right,” Regina agrees, her throat dry. “But it was...”

 

“Yeah,” Emma agrees. “It was.”

 

***

 

Emma’s slurping down the ends of her hot chocolate, including a very fulfilling chunk of melted marshmallow, when she hears the rev of an engine and a very familiar tooting of the horn outside Granny’s. Sure enough, Regina’s Mercedes is idling in the middle of the street, blocking traffic while nobody dares get out of their car to question her.

 

Emma knows when she’s being summoned, so she jogs out to take her place in the passenger seat.

 

“The Budget meeting ran long,” Regina explains. “For some reason, people have started to actually ask questions. It takes twice as long as usual these days.”

 

“Okay?” Emma ventures. “Are we late for something?”

 

It’s been a peaceful two weeks, of not-quite-nightly trips with one or the other sneaking into bedrooms they didn’t start the night in, except for Friday where they very embarrassingly ran into one another in the hall. It had taken fifteen minutes to reassure Regina that she hadn’t induced early labor before she’d even think about letting Emma kiss her.

 

“I made an early appointment,” Regina says, in a very conspiratorial tone, like she’s scored Emma backstage passes for her favorite band. “Dr. Whale is a little reluctant, but he says we should be able to see something this soon, why wait another week just to be even clearer?”

 

“At the hospital?” Emma asks weakly.

 

“Of course,” Regina sighs. “Or did you think I’d make you drive to Boston for your 20-week scan?”

 

“Well,” Emma hedges, realizing that she really should have made her escape plan after handing over the 16-week scan. There’s nothing August can do to help her now, and she doesn’t have the skills to hack the hospital systems. “I do like going to my own doctor.”

 

“I really want to be there,” Regina says, pouting just a little as she shifts gears. “You wouldn’t deny me that moment, surely?”

 

Before Emma can start to cobble together an argument, they’re pulling into the hospital lot. Regina abandons her car on the edge of the ambulance bay, and once again people scatter in fear rather than question her.

 

“I can wait here, while you go park?” Emma suggest.

 

“There is fine,” Regina insists. “Now, come along. I made Dr. Whale give up his lunchbreak for this.”

 

Emma hasn’t even seen any other pregnant women in town, so God knows what’s made him so busy. Apart from a sweet blonde girl who’s friends with Ruby, nobody even has a baby that Emma’s seen.

 

“Can I take a bathroom break first?” Emma pleads. “You know, baby bladder and everything?”

 

“They prefer you to have a full bladder. But fine, be quick,” Regina says, and to Emma’s complete, heart-sinking despair, follows Emma into the ladies’ room.

 

Shimmying out of the window is no longer an option, since the only one is outside the cubicles, where Regina is making a show of washing her hands. Emma locks herself inside one stall and leans against the door in an attempt to regulate her breathing. If only she hadn’t already provided fake photos, she might have been able to convince Regina it had simply been a false positive. Little does Regina know that Emma’s peeing on a stick had only brought up a little row of negatives, before Emma called and lied her sweet, about to be dead ass off.

 

There’s no choice but to face the music. The moment Emma’s done washing her hands, Regina grabs her by the arm and practically drags her to the ultrasound room. She presses some bottled water into Emma’s hand, and she downs it in huge gulps just to avoid having to speak.

 

Dr. Whale greets her with the usual bored expression, but still manages to get a lingering glance at her boobs in there, too. The man’s a pro, and Emma almost has to applaud that. She could ‘fess up now, end the charade before the gown is on and the gel is applied, but she’s clinging onto one last, desperate hope that this will somehow present as an invisible miscarriage or something. Which, Emma realizes, makes her pretty much the shittiest person alive.

 

She’s on the bed, sheet over her legs and gown hiked up, when Regina leans in. For a moment, the stony expression suggests she’s on to Emma, and is simply exposing her as a heartless fraud. But the crinkle around her mouth and eyes suggests something else, and Emma recognizes it all too well: the shaking last defenses of someone trying desperately not to lose their cool in public.

 

“Regina,” she says, barely feeling the ultrasound wand as it makes first contact. “I can explain.”

 

“Well, well, well,” Dr. Whale says, and Emma feels the water sloshing in her stomach, a sure sign that she’s about to toss her cookies. “What have we here?”

 

“Oh!” Regina gasps, before slapping her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Emma!”

 

“I’m sorry,” Emma pleads, reaching for Regina’s arm like a fool with a deathwish. It’s only when Regina keeps staring at the screen that Emma hears the noise. Like the creepy soundtrack to every movie with a submarine in it, there’s a whoomp, whoomp, splashing kind of sound.

 

That’s when Emma dares to look, and comes one blink from blacking out in shock.

 

“What the fuck?” She blurts, unable to help herself. “What is that?”

 

“Well, not to disappoint you,” Dr. Whale smarms. “But that is, in fact, a penis. So you’re having a little boy, Ms Swan. Sorry, Ms Mills.”

 

“A boy?” Regina murmurs, walking around the bed to touch the monitor. Emma hasn’t seen anyone this enthralled by a screen since the little blonde kid in Poltergeist. “We’re having a little boy?”

 

The ‘we’ takes Emma by surprise, but she barely has time to process it before the thundering train of _JesusChristWhatTheHell_ comes thundering through her consciousness again.

 

“I’m really pregnant,” she breathes. “And everything is fine? The heart and... everything?”

 

“I’m counting ten fingers and ten toes,” Whale confirms. “That’s a good strong heartbeat, and he’s about as big as we’d hope for at this stage. You’re doing a great job here for Mayor Mills.”

 

“Emma,” Regina says, finally remembering she’s there. And that she can touch Emma’s cushion-free but still slightly rounded belly. “You’re really doing this for me. I don’t know how to--”

 

“You don’t have to,” Emma squirms. Because she’s doing her math and if those negative pee sticks were with Regina’s egg, then she still has a lot of ‘splaining to do, and Lucille Ball Emma most certainly isn’t. “I’m gonna get dressed and then maybe you can go get a printout from the nurses’ station?

 

“That’s where they print?” Regina asks Whale. He nods, watching Emma like a hawk.

 

“Spill,” he says, the minute Regina walks out of the door. “And don’t think of bribing me, I make what she’s paying you for baby hosting in a quarter.”

 

“Listen, doc, I don’t know what you’re--”

 

“Emma, she’s not a good enemy to make. Trust me. Maybe I can help you if you tell me what’s going on and why you didn’t expect to see a baby on that screen.”

 

“Well, I took the tests about after the implantation,” Emma admits. “And okay so it wasn’t exactly two weeks, but they were negative. And I wasn’t exactly crossing my fingers for a positive, you know what I mean?”

 

“You were going to take the money and run?” Whale confirms. “Girl, she would have hunted you down and... well, within an hour.”

 

“I’m sure she’s not that good,” Emma tries to convince herself. “Anyway, I thought I was just putting on a little weight ‘cause I’m eating everything I can get my hands on.”

 

“So how are you pregnant?” Whale asks, checking the door for signs of Regina returning. She’s nowhere in sight.

 

“Probably because I uh... you know, with a guy,” Emma mutters, hiding her face in her hands. “And he’s dead now anyway, so there goes child support when Regina gives me my own reject baby back.”

 

“Graham?” Whale says, before bursting out laughing. “Oh, Ms Swan, I’m afraid not. Who else could it be?”

 

“No one!” Emma protests. “He’s the only guy in a year, in fact.”

 

“Well, Graham is also infertile,” Whale informs her. “I shouldn’t be telling you that, but what the hell, he’s dead. He had a hunting accident a few years ago. So while some parts still worked there was no... uh, filling in the doughnut, so to speak.”

 

“That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say,” Emma groans. “And I peed in a sink the other week.”

 

“Wait,” Whale continues. “You said you took the tests early?”

 

“Yeah, just a few days,” Emma says. “I figured better sooner than later, right?”

 

“Not really,” Whale says, patting her shoulder like a disappointed coach might. “That’s how most false negatives happen. Congratulations, Ms Swan. You really are carrying Regina’s baby.”

 

“I am?” Emma starts to sob in relief. She doesn’t have to do it. She doesn’t have to break Regina’s heart and ruin her life and all of the things that have been weighing on her.

 

She finishes dressing quickly, eager to get back out and process this new development. She comes to a sharp halt in the hallway though, seeing Regina leaning against the wall, in the one blind spot, between the room’s two window panels.

 

“Yes, Miss Swan,” Regina says, her voice barely a whisper. “I overheard the last part of your conversation. You were planning to trick me?”

 

“I panicked,” Emma yelps, and that’s exactly what she’s doing now. “I didn’t want to let you down. But you saw it yourself: I really am pregnant. With your egg. It’s your baby, Regina. Your baby boy.”

 

“You should stay away from me right now,” Regina decides. “Because I don’t want to risk that little life inside you.”

 

“Regina, please,” Emma is ready to drop to her knees if she has to. “Don’t be that way.”

 

“Stay with your friends,” Regina suggests. “Or go back to your motel room. Tell Granny to bill me again.”

 

***

 

Regina marches straight to Gold’s shop, and in the moment she says “Rum--” she sees everything she needs to know. The flash of recognition even he couldn’t disguise.

 

“Is my curse breaking?” She demands to know, because plans must be made. 

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he lies, but the pressure of her fingers on his throat reminds him in a hurry. “Your Majesty,” he croaks. “How lovely to see you again.”

 

She releases him and he slumps, coughing and gasping for air.

 

“What will happen?” She wants to know.

 

“I suspect your love for that baby is the issue,” Gold says, his old leer pulling at the corners of his thin lips. “And it’s just a blob to you right now. Can you imagine, what it’ll be like, to hold him in your arms for the first time?”

 

“How did you know--” 

 

“I know everything, dearie. And this future was foretold long before you were even a babe yourself.”

 

“I don’t want to lose,” Regina bites back a sob as she speaks. “I can’t lose, after all this time.”

 

“But the curse always had an expiration date,” Rumple reminds her. “Just because you didn’t think to ask, doesn’t make it true. Emma Swan is your destiny.”

 

“She’s no such thing,” Regina retorts, grabbing a golf club from a set in the corner, ready to unleash hell. She misses her magic so badly it makes her teeth ache to be without it.

 

“Oh, so sorry, did I hit a nerve?” The sing-song lilt in his voice makes Regina want to scream, because the chill that runs down her spine is an old one, the chill of her mother’s heart vault and Leopold’s castle and the mansion on winter nights when she gets lost in her loneliness and forgets to turn on the heat.

 

“The minute she pushes my baby out of her, I want her gone,” Regina snaps. “You made this mess, and you will fix it.”

 

“You’re making a deal?” Rumple asks. “What do I get in return?”

 

“Your life,” Regina says, with a sneer. She leaves, and slams the door hard enough to crack the glass.

 

***

 

Emma hides for a few days, living off whatever Ruby brings her and sleeping as many hours as she can force her body to give her. 

 

Eventually, her shame turns into anger, because whatever she did or didn’t intend to do, she’s still here and Regina is still getting her damn baby.

 

It’s a great idea to go storming over there, until Regina has Sidney come and arrest Emma, right there on the pretty brick porch.

 

***

 

Emma’s heavily pregnant and counting the days when the weather improves. She sees glimpses of Regina on Main Street, her hair growing out and her suits as severe as ever. Granny is clearly reporting back on Emma’s condition, and but for Ruby and Mary Margaret visiting, Emma would probably die of boredom.

 

“Not long now,” Mary Margaret says. “You know, I’ve never even been pregnant, but I feel so confident when we talk about it.”

 

“Because you’re made to be a mom,” Ruby insists, pouring lemonade for all three of them. “Look how you helped me go back for my GED.”

 

“I did?” Mary Margaret asks, and although people here can be a little vague, Emma’s caught by the genuine confusion. “You’d think I would remember.”

 

“How long have you two known each other?” Emma asks, thinking nothing of it. It’s only when she looks up to see her friends staring at each other that she realizes something is up.

 

“Snow?” Ruby whispers.

 

“Red!” Mary Margaret squeals, and they embrace like army buddies who made it back from the front in one piece. Emma feels really happy for them, even if she has no idea what--

 

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

 

“Emma?” Mary Margaret sounds all business now. “Are you okay?”

 

“Fuck!” Emma spits. “Con--ow!--contraction.”

 

“The baby’s coming,” Ruby says, sounding way calmer than Emma feels.

 

“I had a daughter,” Mary Margaret says, taking Emma’s hand. “I called her Emma.”

 

***

 

Regina senses it before the phone rings.

 

She has her keys in hand and shoes on her feet by the time she picks up, and Emma’s panting desperation is all the confirmation she needs. 

 

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” she confirms, racing towards the car. She doesn’t dare look at the sky, but the storm clouds roll in anyway.

 

***

 

“Regina!” Emma gasps, from where she’s been forced into a wheelchair. “Everyone’s gone nuts!”

 

“What do you mean?” Regina asks, despite insisting to herself she cares only about the baby and nothing at all about what Emma might have to say.

 

“Mary Margaret and Ruby are calling each other by weird names, and they keep muttering some plan about the Queen, and I know I’m in a lot of pain right now, but Mary Margaret keeps muttering about how I have the same name as her daughter, and I think she thinks, somehow that I might be--”

 

“You’re Snow White’s daughter?” Regina gasps, unable to help it. “No. No, I was so careful. That baby could never have survived in a new world, all alone.”

 

“Regina?” Emma’s eyes are like saucers now, more black than green. “Is there something going on in this town?”

 

“No,” Regina mutters. “No, not like this.”

 

“Owwwww!” Emma cries out suddenly, grasping the arms of the wheelchair. 

 

“Does it hurt?” Regina asks, out of habit.

 

“It feels like I’m shitting a knife!” Emma pants, and she stares Regina down, defying her to call her on the language.

 

“Let’s get you to a doctor,” Regina says, snapping back into Mayoral mode. It’s definitely best to get Emma away from wherever her newly-remembering friends are lurking. Regina wheels the chair through the doors, flagging down Whale with what she hopes is something like poise. Please let people from his world remember slower, or she’s going to end up with a monster instead of a baby.

 

“Ms Swan,” Whale says, no recognition as he looks at Regina. “How far apart are the--”

 

“Motherfu--”

 

“Close,” Regina cuts off the profanity. “About a minute.”

 

“Well, Madam Mayor,” Whale says cheerily. “You’ll be meeting your son very soon.”

 

***

 

She’s had the private birthing suite reserved for months, and Regina notes with a wry smile that nobody else is in need of it. Emma stops yelling quite so loudly when lowered onto a plush bed, the small pool in the corner waiting as an alternative. 

 

“What’s going on?” Emma groans, blonde hair already damp with sweat. The nurses trade her clothes for a gown in record time. “Regina?”

 

“Just focus on the baby, Ms Swan,” Regina insists, and when the nurses move away, she steps up to the side of the bed.

 

“Call me Emma.”

 

“Emma,” Regina concedes. “You’re about to do something wonderful. The kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. I don’t want to be angry, not now.”

 

“I want you to have your baby,” Emma says, through sudden tears. “I don’t want to screw it up.”

 

“You can’t,” Regina assures her. “You won’t.”

 

“After, will you tell me why you’ve all gone crazy?” Emma pleads.

 

“I have a feeling you’ll find out, one way or another,” Regina says, nodding sadly. “Now, let’s meet my son, shall we?”

 

***

 

It takes no more than forty minutes, every curse word in the English language, and a couple of German ones that Regina isn’t even going to ask about.

 

In the end, it only takes the first cry.

 

She loves him, desperately. She loves him more than she’s ever loved anything or anyone, and nothing else is ever going to come close, even if she lives another thousand years. 

 

Regina holds Emma’s hand the whole time, clammy and grasping and frankly a little too strong, but she doesn’t let go even when Emma threatens to actually break some fingers in the process. It’s only when the crying bundle, wrapped in a thin blue blanket, comes towards her that Regina even thinks to let go.

 

“Hello,” she says, as the stretching, straining little boy wriggles against her chest. “I’m your Mommy.”

 

“You got a name?” Emma asks, sounding very far away.

 

“And you’re Henry,” Regina tells them, tells the world. “You’re named for the person I loved most, until this moment.”

 

His face is wiped clean, and Regina can’t wait a moment longer. She presses her lips to his tiny forehead, softer than downy cotton, and closes her eyes.

 

The thunder cracks, and the world as she knows it ends, once and for all.

 

***

 

Emma has never felt so crappy in her entire life, and that’s including the food poisoning/triple hangover combo of Tijuana four years ago.

 

It doesn’t seem to matter as she watches Regina with Henry, sitting in a chair by the bed, looking like they’ve always been together that way.

 

Sidney appears at the door, clearing out the nurses with quiet efficiency. When it’s just the three of them and the baby, he speaks in an accent Emma has never heard him use before.

 

“Your Majesty,” he says, and Emma’s jaw drops at not being able to deny any of this any longer. “I’ve secured this wing of the hospital. Those loyal to you will stand guard, day and night.”

 

“They’ll try to come for me anyway,” Regina says sadly. “If anything happens to me--”

 

“Nothing will,” Sidney assures her. 

 

***

 

On the third day, Regina realizes her defenses won’t hold. Emma should be terrified, but mostly she relaxes in her comfortable suite and lets her body recover.

 

“I have to go,” Regina says quietly, packing the supplies Sidney brought into a few baby bags. “I can’t tell you where, but if you stay here, I think you’ll find the family you didn’t believe you had.”

 

“The hell I will,” Emma says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve spent my whole life feeling abandoned, unwanted. You think I want to give these people a chance to make excuses? There isn’t one.”

 

“But you had so many questions--”

 

“Curiosity. I just wanted to know. To have someone to blame. No way I’m gonna play happy families with some strangers.”

 

“I’m leaving town,” Regina says. “All the money is in your account. I added five thousand for... well, this. If you want more--”

 

“I don’t want your money,” Emma sniffs. “You ever been out of this town before?”

 

“No,” Regina admits. “But I suppose I’ll learn.”

 

“You need a guide,” Emma decides, getting out of bed quite carefully, but already in far better shape. “And I just nominated me.”

 

“If you leave, they can’t come after you,” Regina admits. “The curse may be broken, but we were never intended to mix with this world.”

 

“I can always come back if I change my mind,” Emma says. “Besides, you’re gonna need help with Henzo.”

 

“His name is Henry,” Regina snaps.

 

“Every cool kid gets a nickname,” Emma points out. “But fine, you’re gonna need help with the kid. And I’m a master at surviving on the road. You know, when there are no organic vegetables and you need to buy whatever brand of diapers they sell in a gas station.”

 

“You can’t be serious,” Regina sighs. “I won’t stop you leaving.”

 

“I’m coming with you,” Emma decides. “Ever since I found out you’re the Evil Queen--sorry, a Queen--I’ve decided what you need most is someone to stand up to you. Someone will have to teach the kid that.”

 

“And what about us? That thing that kept happening before?”

 

“I’ve decided to forgive you for being a bitch,” Emma says, with a shrug. “So you can forgive me for being a bit of a con artist, can’t you?”

 

“Why would you want this?” Regina demands, packing the last of the baby clothes into a bright pink bag. “You’re supposed to be starting your life over. You’re supposed to be bounty hunting your family.”

 

“This looks like a fresh start to me,” Emma murmurs. “And maybe I don’t need my old family. Maybe I’ve been looking for a new one.”

 

“I have no intention of being hurt again--”

 

“I won’t hurt you. And if I do? Kick my ass to the curb. You’re no worse off than you are right now. But I think we make a pretty good team,” Emma runs it all off before she can chicken out. “And before you sex was something where I closed my eyes and waited for it to be over. With you I only want it to end so we can start all over again.”

 

“Three days after giving birth and you’re already horny?” Regina sputters in disbelief. 

 

“Yeah, and it’s weeks ‘til I can do anything about it,” Emma groans. “That kid and his stupid big head have got a lot to answer for.”

 

“His head is perfectly normal!” Regina protests, but Emma is already in motion, shoving things into her backpack.

 

“Your Majesty!” Sidney bursts into the room. “I’ve found a vehicle and packed everything on the list.”

 

“Your things,” Regina says to Emma. “See? You can’t come.”

 

“Due respect, ma’am, Ms Swan already asked me to include her belongings,” Sidney says, staring at the floor like he’s awaiting punishment. Instead, Regina rolls her eyes and picks Henry out of his crib.

 

“You really want to come with me?” Regina asks, one last time.

 

“I really do,” Emma replies, pulling on clean sweatpants and a hoodie. 

 

“Well,” Regina sighs, accepting her fate and for once not feeling horrible about it. “Let’s go.”

 

***

 

They leave town just after midnight in Sidney’s donated BMW. Henry cries all the way to the town limits, and settles the minute they pass the ‘You Are Now Leaving Storybrooke’ sign. Regina watches him calm in the rearview mirror, glancing back and forth between the mirror and the road in front.

 

Beside Henry, Emma sleeps soundly, curled up in a protective ball on the backseat.

 

She’ll leave one day, Regina knows. The lure of the lost family too great, the ordeal of living with Regina too insufferable. She’s learned to expect the sting of disappointment lurking in every moment of happiness, but with Henry in her life all these trials seem bearable. A child’s love, as Regina knows to her cost, is so deep and unconditional. She’ll bear any burden to see the day he first calls her ‘Mama’, to hold his hands through the first stumbling steps.

 

Henry fusses a little as they cross the New Hampshire state line, and just as Regina is looking for an exit off I-95 to attend to him, Emma stirs and places a soothing hand on his tummy, rubbing gentle circles until he calms. She opens her eyes long enough to smile at Regina in the rearview mirror, and Regina feels her breath catch in her throat, at the possibility, at the very existence of a ‘maybe’ right now.

 

“Where to?” Regina whispers, mindful of the sleeping baby.

 

“Anywhere you like,” Emma murmurs.

 

***

EPILOGUE

 

They return on a spring day, the morning of Henry’s second birthday.

 

An armed guard escorts them from the town line to the Town Hall, and Emma feels the sweat trickling down her spine while Regina fakes calmness by bouncing Henry on her knee.

 

“You think this is how Kate and Wills feel?” Emma asks, desperate to break the silence.

 

“Who?” Regina asks, as uninterested by Emma’s television and gossip magazine as ever.

 

“Never mind,” Emma sighs, but she pats Regina’s thigh to remind her it’s not that important. “I’m finally going to meet my parents. I don’t even know who my father is.”

 

“He was in a coma,” Regina admits. “One meal with him and you’ll be pleading for me to put him back in one.”

 

“You promised to play nice,” Emma warns.

 

“Yeah,” Henry nods enthusiastically. “Nice!”

 

“Yes, Henry,” Regina mutters, but one look at her son and she’s smiling again.

 

“You tell ‘er, Henzo,” Emma mocks, and Regina nudges her with a very pointed elbow.

 

“Did you really think we’d make it this far?” Regina asks, turning away from Emma in case she can’t bear the answer.

 

“Yeah,” Emma confesses. “I don’t know how, but I did. And if we can make this part right, if we can find some kind of peace, then we’ll finally be free. What’s not to love about that, huh?”

 

“You’re impossible,” Regina groans. “How did I end up in love with an optimistic idiot like you?”

 

“Hey, don’t blame me,” Emma reminds her. “I was a cynic and a crook until I met you. You made me this way, lady. So you got nobody to blame but yourself.”

 

“We could blame Henry instead?” Regina offers, a wicked smile flickering over her lips. “He’s too young to know any better.”

 

“Henry, this is all your fault,” Emma tells him, mockingly stern.

 

“‘enry,” the kid repeats, pulling Emma’s hair with strong little hands. 

 

She looks at Regina in exasperation, but Regina only laughs. 

 

The car rolls to a stop, and Emma sees her former friend standing with a strange man’s arm around her shoulders. She’s ready, at long last. 

 

Outside the car stands a family she might want, and she might not. But with Regina and Henry in her life, she no longer needs a family, won’t accept anything just because the DNA says she should.

 

“Okay,” Emma says, breathing hard through her nose. “Let’s go meet the parents.”


End file.
